Ten to Ten Past Ten

Compozilla;
2001

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Bands like this don't come around everyday. Or rather, bands like this usually
take a while to develop before coming around. I imagine a half decade or so of
learning the ropes, releasing things that go nowhere except as one-off tracks on
mix tapes for that girl you met at that local band concert last weekend. Usually
the bands get some kind of grassroots following, starting in their town, and they
luck into getting featured on a CMJ sampler, and then get name-dropped on an
indie zine year-end poll (if only by the guy who likes a bunch of no-name hardcore
bands). Fairly soon afterwards, the band releases an EP on a big independent
label, and are the talk of free publications everywhere, though still so far
underground to the general public as to be relatively non-existent in the greater
scheme of things.

At some point, this band will tour with a slightly bigger unknown band who has
been receiving props from the same zines for a couple of years now, and who is
at the point where their next record has to be a hit or they'll lose the attention
of big labels (indie or not) and big venues. And the little band who's still very
much on the way up, who has worked their sound into a precise, angry young package,
hardly sees that, unless they headline the same tour next year, they're well on
the way to becoming yesterday's news. But they're probably still a good band
whose only flaw was taking a little time to develop.

But Gaji is here, and they are full-grown. Of course, they had their small
beginnings in Tokyo in the early 90s, but didn't release anything, save some
singles and seven-inches, until 1999 when their first record garnered them exactly
the same kind of underground raves in Japan I was talking about. They played
shows with the right people (Ruins, among others), got compared to the right
people (Melt-Banana and Zeni Geva, to name a couple), and if they had only been
distributed outside of their country, they'd have doubtlessly made the infamous
indie splash in all parts.

The great thing I hear in this band is that they don't appear to be playing
towards their peers or press. Ten to Ten Past Ten, their second
full-length, sounds like a punk band who somehow learned that just playing the
old sound, or even updating the old sound for all-important cred points,
wasn't really the point. Gaji, a four-piece led by vocalist Yuko Hasegawa,
plays music rather distinct and passionate, and I hope they have as little
regard for the formula of making it big as I do. This introduction isn't my
ad for the band, but it is something of a thank-you note to people who play
their stuff without much pretense other than jamming out seriously hard shit
(just like the old bands used to do), yet don't sound like anyone one else.
That's Gaji, as far as I can tell.

In Japan, they get lumped in with Melt-Banana, but they're hardly that spastic,
instead opting for surprisingly intricate (sometimes broaching minimalist) guitar
and basslines, albeit very aggressive ones. "Southwest" leads off the album with
Hasegawa spitting out lines like, "String puller/ Beat ruler/ Beat ruler/ Inciter,"
protesting who knows what injustice over angular guitar and basslines seemingly
more suited to old school math-rock bands like Slint or Don Caballero. Thing is,
this isn't some abstract brainfreeze music, but as punk as anything SST put out.
Of course, they don't really sound like Black Flag, but you probably guessed that
by now.

"Flower of Conspiracy" actually starts with little more than a simple, soft guitar
figure accompanied by clicking drumsticks. It gives way to a bit of feedback, and
then dives into a very straightforward, almost droning piece of music. Drummer
Chisaki Taguchi never plays more than is absolutely necessary to carry the band,
and the bass and guitar worry so little about fleshing out the sound you'd think
it was a demo-- if not for Hasegawa's priceless deadpan vocals, which are often
similar to the Waitresses' Patty Donahue or even Exene Cervenka at her most
passionately desensitized. But when Hasegawa drops lyrics like "spinning spiral
in a silence" and "men betray repeatedly, lament," I don't doubt she has quite a
bit of emotion invested in this.

The best moment of the album for me comes in the transition between "Mute" and
the title track. The former is a lengthy tune, with only single word exclamations
from Hasegawa, and a rhythm section that sounds like it was recorded in my hallway,
with all the edges smoothed out by natural reverb, and repeating guitar figure
that would make Tortoise proud. This builds for several minutes, and then-- *pop*--
nothing. The whole thing disappears, only to explode into "Ten to Ten Past Ten."
Guitarist Yui Kimijimi has his Robert Fripp-meets-D. Boon riffs down pat, and then
some. This is their best tune, due not least to the extremely compact arrangement
(again, no wasted notes, amazing riffs or circus freak intensity), and an odd
vocal, landing on notes that somehow turn the mood from angry and resistant to
something like mystical hardcore. It's a very strange, inspiring song (check the
"chronic depressed states be over" line for further proof).

Now for the bad news: you're probably going to have to work to get this, as it
hasn't been released outside of Japan. Once again, the indie cycle of failure
threatens to strike, but if you're willing to look around, you can find it. Gaji
aren't going to change the world with this release, but I suppose given the right
set of circumstances and a willing audience, they could get a chapter in the
Arcane Annals of Punk. Bands like this, fully formed and beyond being ready to
fight, are rare enough that even if they aren't getting their due off the island,
they'll probably find a way to make waves elsewhere.